


Killing The Angel In The Attic

by dabblingDilettante



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Allegory Allegorier Allegoriest - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Families of Choice, Gen, Revolutionary Girl Utena References, Underground Dueling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21744907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingDilettante/pseuds/dabblingDilettante
Summary: Wherein the swords you use to fight your friends are a mere formality.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: FE3H Holiday Gift Exchange





	Killing The Angel In The Attic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amuk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/gifts).



> This was written on a prompt somewhat inspired by Ingrid & Sylvain & Felix Fronds and "Sylvain and Felix in the Protect Ingrid squad." It was further inspired when I checked out my giftee's blog and saw the quote, "A young woman who cannot become a princess is destined to become a witch." I am a fiend for everything Utena related and a big mess of an idea fell into my head the second I thought about it. This is why we now have this.
> 
> I would like to say. This is definitely not in-universe with FE3H. It's at Not-Ohtori High School. But that also makes it confusing to talk about Death re: The Kids because there isn't some huge Tragedy of Duscur to correlate with and I don't feel comfortable saying "oh lol just terrorist attack and thats why everyone hates Dedue" because that's crass and poorly framed. I don't have time to write FMA: Brotherhood: Revolutionary Girl Ingrid, so instead the thing that Kills a bunch of people is just vague and nondescript because this already ended up Way longer than I originally intended. Sorry. I am very sorry.
> 
> Here is a fic playlist because I only write to music: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLMjEvF9n-MJYE4jAN20YgxpY9W6YUcAyx (i made this on my partner's youtube it isnt my account)

“Did you hear?”

“Did you hear?”

“Once upon a time, there was a happy princess.”

“But a terrible tragedy came upon her, and in the midst of death, fell into a deep sleep.”

“She saw him in her dreams!”

“Yes, the perfect knight.”

"Her darling betrothed."

“He told her to live on, bright and beautiful as she was, for he would always be with her.”

“When she awoke, she took up the sword, and decided to become a noble and virtuous knight as he was!”

“But was that really such a good idea?”

Felix and Sylvain disappear from school grounds weekly. They wave to Ingrid as she runs through paperwork and classroom duties, shadows cutting deep into her face in the early-setting sun, and tell her – they are going to train. They are going to spar. They are going to have a little duel.

This is a lie.

When Felix and Sylvain leave to train, Ingrid patiently finishes her homework and organization. She reports to the teachers and discusses student issues and ensures everyone has done their classroom task for the day. She gives them time, and then she looks. They are not in the dojo. Nor are they in the courtyard, or their rooms. They are not in the gym, not in the fencing hall, and not lounging by the greenhouse, Sylvain pretending to peer at women. Ingrid stands in the empty space that is without them and explores the campus alone, the rose sigils along the floor burning her feet. They are nowhere to be found.

It has been a year since they began this farce. Or, she has known for a year. They keep her at a distance when she asks to observe their sparring, laughter and scowls on their mutual faces, and it makes her feel hollow to sigh and scold them.

“There’s nothing you could learn from us acting like idiots, Ingrid,” Sylvain says. “I’m pretty sure you’re solid where you’re at.”

“I assumed you had better things to do than trail us like a dog,” Felix says. “Are you not the class president?”

“Even as a _representative_ ,” she says, emphasizing the correction, “I’m not invited to any student council meetings. I’m busy, but not so busy that I can’t tell the two of you are lying to me.”

“Ingrid,” Sylvain starts. “I promise that we’re not doing anything terrible. Besides, do you think Felix would still be sitting next to me if I was doing anything that bad?”

“Well…” Ingrid pauses. “It’s honestly more of a mystery that you’ve managed not to annoy him.”

“Sylvain, I recommend you stop digging yourself a hole.” Felix sweeps himself up, ready to carry himself away like wind. “And Ingrid. I recommend you stay out of things that have nothing to do with you.”

The door slides shut, and Sylvain coughs. “And he says I’m the one digging a hole.” The silence is awkward, and she watches him like a tired bystander. “I really do promise,” he finally says. “…just promise me something, too, Ingrid. Between us.”

“What?” she asks.

“Don’t get involved.” He’s staring at the door, instead of her, the sun lighting up the back of his head till it is red as blood. “I’m begging you. Alright?”

“How can I avoid being involved if I don’t know what it is?” she says, more than asking.

At that, Sylvain laughs and gets up. “I guess you’re right.”

With him, the door stays open, as if daring her to follow. Ingrid’s fingers curl up into her palms, broken nails digging into her skin. Pointedly, she chooses to leave out the other door, and walks opposite the way her friends took.

The walk to her dorm is brisk, usually, but today, it is as though Ingrid spends days walking. The shadow of willow trees stretch out over her, chains licking her arms under a cold sun. The thought of their distance reminds her of friendships ruined. Yet, she cannot imagine life without Felix and Sylvain. They have been eternal in the face of everything else she has lost, and everything regret she cannot turn back. When they ask her not to involve herself, it is likely not a rejection, but stress crushes her skull as though it was. It was another personal problem she would have to contend with to maintain their friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. Ingrid takes the stairs when she arrives, finally, jogging along as she did in most parts of her life.

Sitting in front of the door to her dorm is a small box. A folded paper sits atop. Gold filigree borders its contents, with the scent of roses burning Ingrid’s nose. The script is not like Sylvain’s – bubbly and scratched out at the same time. Nor is it Felix’s miniscule scrawl, or Dimitri’s painstakingly written cursive that appeared more unreadable than another language. It is elegant, and simple, and short.

_This belongs to you. It was his, once._

The hall turns dark all at once in her vision. The final window of sunlight cut short like blinds falling down. Her hands fumble at the lock to her room, and she falls through the threshold, barely holding onto herself. The door has closed and locked itself before she recognizes her hands, and sees she has dropped the box. Picking it up again, she finds herself at her desk. His books are still on it, pushed to each corner, like something to hold her down to earth in the absence of gravity. Her fingers shake. Her body shakes. Or it is her heart, causing an earthquake through her blood, tearing apart her eardrums.

The box has a simple clasp. It is small. Almost like – she cuts the thought short. It is a box meant to hold only one thing. For this reason alone, she is not surprised when she sees the ring sitting inside. Steam fills her head, boiling her eyes. It is the only reason she can imagine as to why she is so over-heated, why tears are falling unbidden onto the desk. The ring is cold harsh metal, and sliding it onto her left ring finger, she feels it ice her feverish body. 

Ingrid has seen this ring before.

Its sigil haunts every inch of this school. When she leaves her room, she sees the flash of the rose on the walls, pulling her feet along. Through the stairs and past the greenhouse. So late, there is no one left on campus. Shadows traipse before her, showing her path, ring glittering in the darkness.

At the end of the path, she finds an elevator without buttons or switches. When her left hand touches the wire bearings, it slides open. At the center of its floor is another sigil. But this is no rose. It is unmistakably his. Ingrid walks inside the elevator and allows the doors to shut behind her.

“A new duelist?”

“That is what the letter says.”

“I figured things’d be done already, considering how Dimitri wiped the floor with all of us.”

“That castle hasn’t come down, so it couldn’t be over.”

“So we’re going to let some new idiot in to fight the boar, then?”

Ingrid knows all their voices. The dream of this ring, the dream of Glen, and she can almost hear him, as she walks forward into blinding moonlight.

“What is this about a duel?” she says.

Sylvain and Felix are the ones she looks to first. Sylvain’s eyes are dinner plates, his face pale and still. Felix is as unmoved as usual, but she sees the way his hands clutch his sword tighter, knuckles turned white. 

“Ingrid,” Dimitri says. It has been a year since she last let herself near him, and it is no easier now than it was then. When he moves to wave her over, she sees the ring on his finger. “I’m glad to see you well.”

The same ring Felix and Sylvain wear. And that she –

“What are all of you doing,” Ingrid says. “It’s past curfew. I doubt you need to be doing this so late.”

“The Student Council meets when we are told to,” says another, voice soft and distant at the same time. Dedue sits to the side of Dimitri, and Ingrid feels a sick well of shame rise in her chest at the sight of his tired eyes. “No more. No less.”

She steps forward. “This couldn’t be the Student Council. Not if Sylvain is here.”

“Yeah, I told them that too,” Sylvain pitches in, before Felix glares at him. “What? Just being honest.”

“It’s not something we’re at liberty to discuss…” As Dimitri trails off, his eyes land on her hand. His voice turns cold. “I should ask why you are here.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out what those fools have been doing all this time,” she says, defensive. “As a representative, I’m expected to maintain order in the school.”

“I see,” Dimitri says.

“What is it that you see,” she asks, frustrated.

“The ring on your finger,” Felix interrupts. “Where did you get it. Who did you take it from.”

“Dude,” Sylvain mutters. “This isn’t-“

“I think that is the right question. Because I know who should have a ring.” Felix stands, his chair falling out from under him. “And that means I know that she does not need to be here!”

“It was given to me,” Ingrid says. She is too ready to fight, too ready to be defensive, after years of friendship building up like allowed discontent. Despite how she knows better, she says, “I think that’s enough of a right, Felix. Just as it’s my right to know what the four of you are doing here!” She points behind her, to the elevator. “Or why your family’s seal is here over every other family at this school.”

His mouth snaps shut audibly, teeth jamming together. For how long she’s known him, she thinks he’s bitten his tongue, and she would almost laugh if she were not so angry.

“The elevator let you in,” Dimitri says. “I would say you are as related to this as any of us are.”

He walks over, taller than she remembered. The last time she had seen Dimitri was when she had walked out of the fencing club. The last time she had seen Dedue was the day she’d made one of the worst mistakes of her life. And here they stood, ready to judge her. But though she expected accusatory eyes, Dimitri looks at her, defenseless and honest.

“We are chasing the power to revolutionize the world,” he says. “The End has chosen you to fight toward that with us.”

He hands her a rose.

“Three nights from today. We are to meet in the forest behind the school. I will explain more to you then.”

With that, Dimitri walks past her. Dedue follows in turn. “We are adjourned,” he says, with a polite nod towards her. She cannot bear to look at him.

With their exit, Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid are left alone. She runs the rose between her fingers. It is blue – clearly fake, clearly dyed to gain the appearance it has – and every thorn has been shaved off its sides. Meticulous and dangerous in spite of itself. Ingrid drops the rose. She has never been interested in flowers.

“You aren’t going,” Felix tells her.

He says it again, each day.

“And who are you to stop me?” Ingrid asks.

“You make a big deal about us being friends,” he mutters. “And I know what this is about. And because I know what this is about, I know for a fact you don’t need to be involved.”

“Then tell me, Felix. If you care that much about our friendship, why didn’t you tell me in the first place?”

Sylvain interrupts. “It’s not really easy to explain. But …” He puts a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. “I think he’s right. For whatever that’s worth.”

“Then why are the two of you putting yourselves through something that you won’t let me go through with you?” Ingrid says. It is only after students around them pause in the halls that she realizes how loud she was.

The three of them scuttle outside, down to the greenhouse, and huddle like a malformed crab.

“I’m not letting the two of you endanger yourselves, it’s that simple,” Ingrid whispers. “If you are in trouble, I’m not letting you guys go alone.”

“It’s not like it’s trouble,” Sylvain mutters. “More just …”

“A waste of time. It’s a waste of your time, my time, everyone’s time,” Felix interrupts. “I told you before. If you’re the class representative, I am positive you have better things to do with your time.”

“Right, and how are you two on the Student Council, and I’m not? I thought that stuff was a school vote.”

“It’s not really a Council as much as it is a weird meeting,” Sylvain says.

“It’s a dictatorship and the boar needs to be dragged out of it kicking and screaming,” Felix says.

“Dimitri’s not that stubborn,” Sylvain says.

“Yeah. Right.” Felix says it with the intonation of an eye roll he doesn’t bother to commit to.

“Fine. If the two of you are that bothered, I won’t go. But the two of you also have to stop going if that’s the case.” Ingrid puts out her hand. “Do I have a deal?”

Felix limply slaps her hand on top of hers. “Whatever.” Sylvain puts his hand over top his, and the three of them nod.

“It’s done.”

\--

If Ingrid had truly wanted a promise, she thinks –

She would have had all of them bury those rings.

The forest is unwelcoming and unpleasant so late, but a knight is meant to be courageous in the face of danger. There is a gate that opens at her ring, bowing like a thousand troops below her, and a thousand stairs stretching into the sky. As she walks up, she can no longer see the school, but resolves to keep moving forward. It is the least she can do.

“I’m glad to see you’ve come.”

Dimitri stands at the top of the stairs, blue rose pinned to his uniform. He is the image of a true prince, and a part of her warms at the sight. As though they could return to how things once were. 

“You told me you would explain,” Ingrid says. “Believe me, Dimitri, there is a lot for you to explain.”

He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Above us, there is a castle.” He stares up, and she does too, realizing there is something defying gravity above both their heads. It glistens and makes her eyes water from how bright it is, impossible to truly comprehend. “I suppose you could say we have heard from a reliable source that if we duel like this, we can convince something in that tower to come down.” He looks wistful. “They say it is the power to revolutionize the world.”

“And how did you hear about this place? That castle? How do you have any proof?”

“The ring you’re wearing,” he says. “I believe that used to be Glen’s.”

Her heart seizes. It doesn’t. Nothing happens. Something should happen. “What are you saying.”

“Before he died, he fought for this as well. …And now, we all do.”

“A rose for you.”

Ingrid glances to her side and sees Dedue holding out a white rose. 

“Thank you, but I don’t-“

“It’s customary,” Dimitri says, tapping his own chest.

She frowns, but allows Dedue to clip it to her breast. Looking at his ear – his face – she sees healed scars and Ingrid bites her lip. Though he makes no other comment, she pulls herself together enough to say, “Thank you.”

For a moment, his eyes meet hers. “Of course,” he says.

“Now,” Dimitri says. “We should finish this.”

He holds a hand over his chest. In an instant, light flashes, hidden by his palm, and he draws his fingers out. Something shines from the center of his chest, glittering in the light of the castle above, and Ingrid sees him grit his teeth as he wraps his fingers around the pommel of a sword. It juts out of his chest like he had somehow been stabbed, but no blood appears. He draws it forth, slashing the blade through the air, before bringing it to a stop at his side.

“You should draw your own,” he says.

“I …” Ingrid’s voice trails off. She draws her hand to her breast, nervous feet falling back despite herself. But then the ring touches her chest. From her heart – to the ring on her finger, through her hands, and her bones, the beat vibrates deep enough to hurt. Again, and again, and again, it sends a pulse through her body, pounding in her skull, until she feels herself buckle over from the pain. And against her chest, pressing into her palm, she feels the familiar sting of cold metal. 

She is more used to lances than swords, but the image of Him flashes in her mind, and she tears the blade from her chest to point it at Dimitri.

“Fine,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “One quick duel.”

“Indeed.” Dimitri crouches. “Till the rose is gone.”

In the spinning arena, Dimitri moves like a wild animal. She’s heard the way Felix speaks of him, time and time again, but it is nothing like the friendly spars she saw and experienced in the past. His movements are that of someone who wants nothing more than to win. Though it makes her pulse quicken, Ingrid grinds her heels into stone, and draws the sword up. Defensive, prepared, and terrified.

But a knight – a true knight is noble. Courageous. Virtuous.

He strikes with a flurry of blows, but she is fortunate – there is no killing intent. From the way he attacks, his only target is the rose at her breast. His attacks drive her back, feet sliding across the tiles, but she takes an opening to commit to a wide swipe. Dimitri jumps back, sword held across his body like a shield.

What Glen would do –

Glen would –

It was always 50/50, as to who would win. But she could follow the line of Glen’s jab with her eyes, the same path he’d take, perfect for a thin sword to slide in and cut through a flower. She doesn’t have his reach. But as she leaps forward, a fire grows in Ingrid’s chest, the castle’s light falling upon her like sunlight. Energy flows to her feet, and it was as simple as leaping toward Dimitri. His eyes widen, and there is the ghost of a name on his lips. Sword held in hand, she jabs forward at such a distance that he has no way to counterattack before –

Blue petals disperse in the wind and bells began to ring.

Dimitri stands as though dumbfounded. “What…”

Ingrid throws the sword aside, but there is no sound of it hitting the ground. “I hope that was a good enough display for you.”

His hand covers his face. “It couldn’t be.” When she reaches out to touch him as he walks past, he looks at her, pale and shocked. “No. No, it’s not possible.” Withdrawing at the mere ghost of her touch.

“Do you hate me that much,” she murmurs.

“No!” he says, a little too loud. “No, I need to go.” When Dimitri reaches the stairs, he disappears in an instant.

As Ingrid stares after Dimitri, Dedue silently walks to her. He does not touch her, and she wonders if it is because he could not stand to touch her, or if the reaction he expects her to have is so much worse. 

“You are now the reigning victor of these duels,” he says. “The rest of us will come to challenge you now.”

“You participate as well?” she asks.

Dedue nods. “I am a duelist. And I aid in the process. I am told these duels were once different. Things have changed, and this is how we must fight."

“I see,” Ingrid murmurs. “Dueling among a circle of knights.”

He does not respond to that.

She keeps her stare firmly on the ground as she begins her descent. Ingrid does not catch up to Dimitri.

\--

Dedue is the one who walks into her class the next day. Ingrid sees Felix and Sylvain stiffen, watching. However, Dedue comes to her desk, and hands her an envelope.

“There is a meeting today,” he says, and leaves.

Though Sylvain and Felix are quick on their toes, she is nothing if not agile. Ingrid leaves the class before they have a chance to get out of their seats and loses herself in the bustle of students. There are only so many classes the three share, and it is not until she sits on the balcony of the Student Council that she sees them again. Glancing over the rim of her tea, they do their best impression of people who do not care, and are not interested, failing immensely.

“You broke your word,” Felix starts.

“And here I thought you were miss goody two-shoes,” Sylvain adds. The bitter edge of his voice feels more like scorn than Felix’s usual tirades.

“You say that, but the two of you are here, after you promised you would stop. So I think I may have made the right decision,” Ingrid says, sipping her tea.

“Guess you’re right, Ingrid,” Sylvain says. He pulls out a chair and drags it next to her, sitting in it backwards. “Good to know you fully expected us to lie to you.”

“It’s nothing new, Sylvain. I did grow up with you,” she says.

“Yeah, you know me so well,” he says. “You know why I’m doing this?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because you can’t keep your nose out of trouble.”

Sylvain laughs. Felix sits down on the opposite side of the table, and she can sense how much he doesn’t want to be involved in one of her arguments with Sylvain.

“What did Dimitri tell you about all this,” he says, more than asking. “I’d just love to know.”

The tea sours in her mouth. “All he said was that this was about revolutionizing the world.” The ring makes her finger ache.

“Didn’t mention anything about Glen, then, huh. You sure about that?”

“…he did mention Glen,” Ingrid forces herself to say.

Sylvain hums and she wants to smack him, as though they’re 8 years old and that’s acceptable behavior again. “Really makes you wonder how you got a ring, doesn’t it.”

Before she can respond, the doors of the elevator creak open, calling everyone’s attention.

“I’m glad to see you are all here,” Dimitri says. When Ingrid catches his eye, she doesn’t understand the look he gives her. But he nods at her, like she’s done the right thing in coming. “As there’s a new victor, it appears we’re starting from the bottom again.”

“Here I was hoping we were done,” Sylvain pitches in. 

“Whoever wishes to duel Ingrid first, may. If no one steps forward, we may have to wait for correspondence before we can continue,” he goes on, as though Sylvain said nothing at all.

All eyes in the room land on her. The question of how she won, against Dimitri of all people. How it could even be done. 

But Felix says, “The fact that you managed to beat him almost cancels out you lying to me.” Like he’s a little smug – almost happy that Dimitri lost.

“It’s not as though I’m actually interested in dueling any of you,” Ingrid says. “I just went along with Dimitri because you two wouldn’t tell me anything more.”

“Is that so,” Sylvain says.

In a moment, there is the flash of green thrown into her lap. Ingrid glances down to a desiccated rose, aged as though he had kept it for months. 

“Here’s another excuse for you to take,” he says.

Bells ring in Ingrid’s head as she watches him walk away. 

“The next duel is set.”

\--

Dedue stands at the top of the stairs, when Ingrid looks to the precipice. By the time she reaches the top, he has disappeared to the distant side of the arena. At the center, Sylvain waits. Despite the fiery red of his hair, the rose Dedue pins to his chest is green. She’d expect a lance in his hand, too, instead of a sword. It reminds her of his brother, ever so slightly warped and beaten. Despite that, it has a shine to it, and an uncomfortable sharp twist of metal at the end.

"Looks like you kept your promise!" Sylvain announces.

"We don't have to do this," Ingrid says. "I don't want to duel you, Sylvain. You know that."

"You'll duel Dimitri, but not me? I'm so hurt," he says. Though he smiles through the banter, the cold look in his eyes twists a dagger into her gut. "If you want to find out more, then why not keep dueling. Then maybe we'll find out what happened to Glen, right? Better yet, Dimitri'll bring him back from the dead and he'll take the place he was always meant to. I'm sure Felix would be ecstatic. And you? Geez, I don't even need to imagine. Finally, I'll be able to fuck off and do my own thing!"

"Sylvain," she mutters. "What does this have to do with Glen."

"What else could Dimitri mean when he talks about the power to revolutionize the world," Sylvain deadpans. "Bring back his parents, Dedue's family, and everything everyone ever lost. Right Dedue?" He glances over, but Dedue does not respond. Sylvain stares like he's waiting for something, but eventually nods. "S'alright. Anyway. It's all code, Ingrid. You're smart though, so I'm sure you already figured that out."

She hadn't even begun to consider what revolution meant to Dimitri - or that it was about what it meant to him. Ingrid says, "If that's what Dimitri sees in revolution, what is it that you see? Why are you doing this, Sylvain."

"Who better to be a stepping stone for the sake of progress," he says with a bow. "Everyone needs a jerk to throw to the wind, so why not pick the perfect choice?"

"I'm not here to sacrifice you," she says. 

"And yet, here you are. Be honest." He flourishes his blade. "So if you want to win, at least give a good show."

Sylvain runs at her, both hands gripping his sword into an up-hand slash. She falls back to avoid the glance of his blade. Her hand lands on the ground and she finds herself flipping over herself in the air, landing on her feet. Sylvain whistles, drawing her out of her shock. Each blow he gives, she takes and throws back, like an argument they refuse to verbalize. His unhealthy flirtatiousness, her frustrating assumptions, both angrily weighing against one another to their bones. She is not interested in him, and he is not interested in her, but they are friends - but that is only because of family - but it is in spite of family they have both grown to hate.

Warmth spreads from the ring and from the light in the castle above. Despite the thought of growing up, together, different and similar, it fades from the forefront of her mind. Her movements mirror stories from her memories. That of knights, and perfect victory, and noble sacrifices. 

As though outside her body, Ingrid watches herself match Glen's form perfectly as she slices her blade through Sylvain's rose. He stares down, shocked, before tired unease takes over his expression.

“You three make me wonder if my brother ever believed in nobility,” Sylvain says, cutting her to the core without a blade. “Guess it doesn’t matter now.”

If there was anyone in the world that should have been related to her by blood, it would have been Sylvain, with his annoying behavior and protective needling into her harsh personality. But they weren’t siblings. He drops his sword like it burns him.

“See, you really don't need me,” he says, lilt of miserable mocking coloring his voice. “This is just another in a long list of duel I didn't win! It's a reminder of how useless I am.”

“That’s not –“ she starts, but he cuts her off. Like he always does. Like he does when he makes her so angry she could snap, even though deep down she knows, and she understands, but –

Sylvain says, “I thought you'd try to be honest with me, of everyone we know. I’m not here to fool anyone. See you.”

“Could you stop!” she yells. “Could you listen to me for once in your life.”

At that, he shrugs. “It’s not a matter of listening. You’re too good for me, right? Everyone is. I’m just doing what I should have done years ago.”

Though she wants to follow, running after him, movement catches her eye.

"Congratulations on winning this duel," Dedue says like reading a script. "You are the continuing champion."

"Did he really mean that about Dimitri," Ingrid asks. She does not say what she is thinking - _about you?_ "That Dimitri thinks it will bring back the dead."

"I cannot say what Sylvain meant," he answers.

"Then what do you think?" she asks.

Dedue is quiet, but Ingrid chooses patience. "Dimitri does not think it will return the dead to us. Nor do I."

"So what is revolution," she murmurs.

He sighs. "It is something everyone wants."

Dedue leaves at that, and Ingrid follows once she is sure she will not be noticed.

\--

Glen had attended this same school, years before. Younger than she is now. Ingrid looks at the records, dizzy to think she is older than he will ever be. She wonders if the thought is perhaps worse for Felix. Even if it was, he would probably never tell her. In every book in the library she finds, there is no mention of rose rings, or floating castles, or what eternity maintains. There are only notes about clubs and teachers and old school traditions.

And old buildings.

In an old wing of the campus, there is a building no one uses any longer. A building without proper record. A building marked by House Fraldarius. When Ingrid arrives, it is destitute – the insides stripped bare of whatever worth they may have once had. While the door is locked, it takes little effort to jiggle it open, skills any reputable knight probably shouldn’t know. Her first breath inside is made up of webbing and dust, and she coughs, disturbing the untouched room. As she glances around, however, Ingrid sees footsteps.

She fits her feet to the imprints, walking in them as not to make any more disruptions. The walls are covered in imprints that once held portraits, all removed rather than fallen down. Though the space is filthy, it is strangely immaculate in how perfectly it had been cleared out, removed of any personal identifiers of those who once held it.

“How did she get it…”

She pauses. There is only one person – Ingrid leans against the wall, and peers around to see Felix pacing down a hall.

“I got rid of it,” he mutters. Candlelight emblazons his shadow over her, and she hides further back. “And no one else has been here.”

He falls silent and Ingrid finds herself cursing the fact that Felix was the kind of person to avoid talking at any chance. If it was Sylvain, she’d have a chance. The thought of Sylvain makes her gut churn. He hadn’t been speaking to her since the end of the duels. Not even showing up to class. Instead, all she could do was take packets to his dorm room to shove under the door and hope he’d respond. He never did.

If she felt more confident, she’d ask Felix to help her reach out, but watching him stride through dark and unwelcoming halls made her feel more intimidated than before. 

Felix descends to a basement, and she follows closely, remnants of the Fraldarius family left in shadows on the walls. At the bottom of lengthy stairs, Felix stops. A door blocks his path, one that had long since lost its door knob. He pulls a dagger from his side and slides the blade into a sliver of where a handle once stood, and strangely, it opens at the twist of his hand. The door begins to close behind him. Ingrid shoves a toe in, just enough to stop it from slamming. Normally, Felix would notice such things. Here, all she hears is his footsteps away and the slam of another door. Ingrid pushes in gingerly and strains to see in the dark room. Every surface of every wall, there is a drawer. Each one has a crest. No crest is the same as the one next to it, but they appear as though random. When she tries to open one, it refuses to budge. Walking the circumference of the room, Ingrid pauses at one closest to the floor. This one has no crest following it. This crest is that of Fraldarius. She swallows and reaches out.

The door to the side opens and she jolts to see Felix, staring at her with a look that could sour milk.

“What are you doing here,” he says.

“I'm,” she stutters. "I'm investigating." Forcing a tougher face. “I want to know about what these duels are as much as you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need to know what they’re about. I already know. And I told you that you need to get out of them.”

Too emboldened, she steps up close. “If this had something to do with how Glen died, I refuse to give up so easily. Look at this room. It has to be connected. Every crest in this room is familiar.”

“That doesn't matter,” Felix says. Dangerous. “There’s nothing else to be said. My brother rots in the ground, and we are breathing, here and now. Give it up, Ingrid.”

“I’m tired of your hypocrisy,” she spits. “You’re the one involving yourself in a game that keeps invoking his name. He was your brother, and my fiancé. You can’t have forgotten how important he was to me!”

“No,” he says. “But I will tell you. I am sick of hearing people like you invoke his name as a reason for doing this.”

“We can’t all act as cold as you, Felix.”

He snorts at that. “I tried warning you.” Throwing down a rose at her feet, he says, “I’ll see you at the forest tonight. I’m sick of letting you continue your charade.”

\--

At the top of the stairs, Felix and Dedue wait, long opposites of one another. Though they both stand withdrawn, there is a petulant frustration always clear in Felix's posture. In Dedue, Ingrid sees an inevitability, finally. As before, it is Dedue who pins the roses to their chests, and as before, they have been precisely cut and removed of their thorns. 

Felix wears a yellow rose, and it doesn’t match his demeanor. Little does, outside of swords. The blade he draws is not what she expects. It is broad and powerful, immensely different than the one Glen used to use. The same one she draws, herself, she realizes as she stares at Felix.

“There is no revolution in chasing a ghost,” Felix yells, over the clash of swords. 

Her blade should shatter under the weight of his strength, but it stays strong. It stays true. Just as the sword of a knight should.

“If it’s truly Glen in that castle, why wouldn’t we try to reach it?” she asks. “Wouldn’t you want to see him again?”

“That thing is not my brother,” he spits. “What you carry is nothing but a shadow.”

She spins to avoid his next blow. While Felix has adopted so many of Glen’s quirks, there is a desperation in his blows. A pull away from how he naturally intends to attack her, as though unwilling to perform the techniques Glen once taught them. Though she has always struggled to defeat him in one-on-one matches in the past, with rapiers and practice swords of all times, Felix is not acting like himself. 

“What were you saying in that building,” Ingrid asks. “What were you supposed to have gotten rid of?”

“Nothing,” he spits.

There is an art to the dance between them, two people who know each other’s techniques, because they learned too much from the same person. It is like a mirror image trying to break free of itself. 

“Was it the ring?” she asks.

“Shut up!” Felix yells.

“I was his betrothed,” she yells in return. “You think I had no right to the only ring he had left?”

This time, he does not yell. It comes in the upward swipe of his sword, enough for the wind current to burn past her ear. 

"You want to know what that room was?" he yells. "Where I found you?"

"It was records," she yells in return. "I couldn't open them."

A miserable laugh tears from his throat. "You didn't use your ring bearing hand."

"What?"

"There are bodies, Ingrid! A body for each crest. Every one but Glen's." 

In his eyes, as she jabs forward, she almost sees –

A reflection of the man long dead.

Felix stumbles to a pause as yellow petals float away on the wind. She moves to touch his arm, but he jerks away.

"You checked," she whispers. "All of them?"

Silence freezes in the air between them. He does not answer her question.

“I’m done with this,” he says. It is tired and bitter and completely at a loss. “Do what you want.”

The bells echo as Felix walks away. Dedue nods at Ingrid. "You are the victor."

Ingrid stares after Felix's shadow and asks, "Are you the one who picks the rose colors?"

"I grow flowers," he says, simply. "Then I bring them for the duels."

"What does yellow mean," she asks. "I get white. Purity. Nobility. ...I know all about that. But what does yellow mean?"

Dedue stares at her, even and unknowable. "It is more a question of what it means to Felix."

"In general," she says. "I want to know," truly, she thought, she wanted to know what Dedue knew and felt and if he was angry like the rest of them always were about the world, because he should be, and he had to be, "what the language behind it is."

"...friendship," he starts. "Adoration. There is no romance in the yellow rose. It is popular among family."

Ice settles in Ingrid's chest. "I see."

Dedue nods and takes his leave without anymore comment. 

When she goes back to the abandoned building, Ingrid finds nothing but an empty lot.

\--

Sylvain and Felix no longer come to the Council meetings.

It is awkward with only Dedue and Dimitri. Dimitri seems more tired than ever, his normally immaculate hair poorly brushed and haphazardly cut. Yet, his eyes are clear, and he spends much of their meetings filling out paperwork, far away from people. Though Dedue is typically unreadable, there is a concern baked into his face every time he looks at Dimitri. Sitting far opposite of them, Ingrid is in a different world and cannot bring herself to voice the concern she feels for both of them.

“I will be the next to duel you,” Dedue says, one day, without ceremony. “Two nights from today.”

“Could I ask a question of you,” Ingrid says. He nods, and she goes on. “Why are you dueling?” He had no relation to Glen. He was affected by the fallout, certainly, but he should have been freer than the four of them.

For a moment, Dedue glances at Dimitri. Then he says, “Duels need duelists. I made a promise I would help him achieve his goals.”

“There must be something you want,” she says. “After everything that happened to your family.”

Dedue sighs. “Perhaps.” She wonders if she is driving him out again, as he stands up to leave. “However, I doubt that has any importance right now.”

\--

Dedue waits at the top.

At his chest is an orange blossom, carefully harvested. The sword he pulled from his chest is not a blade like any of theirs. His, instead, is a rapier. 

“Thank you for coming,” he says.

“I couldn’t refuse,” she answers.

As they begin to duel, she realizes how much better he is than her. The power that normally chases her does not manifest in her bones and no light falls from the castle to guide her actions forward. In that absence, she is unsure, but worse, she is scared of hurting Dedue. 

“Why do you hesitate,” he says, when she jumps away.

“I’m not,” Ingrid lies.

“You won your previous duels for a reason,” Dedue says. Though she seeks a hint of bitterness in his words, she does not find it. Maybe just – sadness. Or fatigue. “If your loathing makes you unwilling to fight me, I would understand, but I need you to put it aside.”

“I don’t,” she says, too quick. “I…” 

“We are here to duel. You do not have to make an excuse for your feelings,” he says.

Ingrid tastes iron on her tongue when she lashes forward again. More than anything, Dedue rarely uses his sword. He can easily side-step her attacks. As someone who is with Dimitri so often, he probably finds the time to train far more than she does. 

It is like there is an expectation she should win, regardless.

“Why do you do this, Dedue,” she asks.

“For Dimitri’s sake,” he answers. “That should come as no surprise to you.”

“No,” Ingrid says. “No. There has to be something else.” She runs at him and catches his sword against hers, pressure making him push back despite himself. “Dimitri, Felix, Sylvain. They’re all caught up on something more. You wouldn’t be here unless there was something else too.”

Dedue appears slightly bemused at that. “As you are, I assume.”

She bites her tongue. “Your family. Your friends, from before you had to come to this school. I only know the rumors, and I know those are wrong, but they had to come from somewhere. Do you think this is going to bring them back?”

“No, I don’t,” he says. “I know when I have to move on.”

“But it has to bother you.” Like how it bothers her. “The way everyone talks about you behind your back. The way they lie about you!”

“They speak of what they do not understand,” he says. “As you have done, as well.”

“Yes! So why don’t you hate me!” she yells, slashing forward into his rapier.

The tip of his rapier stabs her hand and she lets go of her sword at the short shock of pain. In response, Ingrid barrels into him, trying to knock Dedue down. He’s sturdier than her, however, and even with an attempt to push him off balance, he is able to stand his ground. Ingrid bounces off him and skids to a halt. She punches her hand into the ground, ring smashing down to make her fingers sting. The castle above creaks. Shadows grow beneath her as light begins to burn into her back, and she knows what is happening.

Just as it has happened before.

But here, her throat feels like it is closing up instead. The power he gives her, each time, to become the knight she needs to be. She couldn’t do that here. But when Ingrid moves to take the ring off, it is tight on her finger and impossible to remove.

Dedue steps forward into the light, and she beckons him away. “You can’t –“

But as he steps into the shadow her form has cast, a bright light explodes before them.

As the light fades, Ingrid balances herself against hard wood. Her eyes adjust, and she realizes where she is standing. Below her, on the first floor of the fencing room, are two people, jousting. To her sides are Felix and Sylvain, peering down on the duel before them. In the furthest corner, Dedue sits in a chair, silently following one duelist.

One manages to land a point on the other. Polite applause takes the room, and she sees her friends nodding in response. Below, the duelists put down their rapiers, and remove their protective masks.

“That was a good match,” Dimitri says. 

Opposite him is Ingrid – her hair bundled up on the back of her head, and so slightly softer in the face than she is now. She stares at herself, a year younger, anxiety building in her gut as she remembered the day.

“I’m starting to beat you more often,” she laughs. “Maybe one day I’ll achieve Glen’s dream and really make you meet your match.”

“Indeed.” Dimitri watches her laugh with a solemn smile on his face. “You should go against Dedue, next. I believe he’s been getting better himself with the rapier.”

Ingrid watches herself not recoil – she wishes it was a recoil, because then it would be obvious. Instead, her younger self frowns. “You don’t need to involve him in everything.”

“What?” Dimitri says.

Her younger self moves closer, as though it will help. “I doubt he’s interested in sparring with me. I would rather not have to. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“What?” Dimitri says, louder and angrier.

Young Ingrid’s eyes dart from Dedue to Dimitri. “It’s hard enough being in the same room, so often. I can’t imagine Felix feels much better about it. It’s difficult to face a reminder of losing Glen so often, Dimitri.”

“Dedue had nothing to do with that,” Dimitri says. “I’ve told you, time and time again, and I think you fail to understand the reality of how he died. Death is ugly and unfair, Ingrid. I know that as well as anyone. You know I understand that fact. But your prejudice is a grotesque expression of grief.”

“We don’t know that, Dimitri!” she yells in return. “I just need you to stand by me, sometimes. I don’t hate Dedue! I just –“

“What, instead you hate where he comes from? Hate him because his family died in the same incident that killed my parents? You speak like you lost family, but what you lost was a promise of marriage, Ingrid. You don’t understand.”

“Glen was everything to me!” Ingrid screams. “The day he died, I lost my entire future. Why can’t you understand why it’s so traumatizing to be around someone that reminds me of that fact?”

“Because it was a lie, Ingrid! If Sylvain can see it, I don’t know why someone as smart as you can’t!” he yells.

Ingrid – however past she may be – throws her rapier on the ground at Dimitri’s feet. “If that is how you feel, then I suppose I don’t need to be here.”

On the balcony, she can see Dimitri take a step back, as though he’s just realized what he’s said. But in the same moment, as her past self walks out the door, and he starts to raise a hand as if to stop her – he stops himself instead.

In the silence of the room, Felix and Sylvain run through her, down the balcony, after the girl who left the room. In the silence, overwhelming to her ears, she can hear Dimitri’s voice as though she was standing next to him.

“What’s wrong with me,” he says. She sees him stare at his hand, and as her eyes are locked on the sight, Dedue walks over to take it. Dimitri says, “I can’t even convince one of my dearest friends of the truth. What worth do I have.”

“You do not need to fight your friends simply for the sake of protecting me,” Dedue says. “I gave up on people at this school long ago. I have accepted surviving this until I graduate.”

“And what if people continue to treat you poorly afterward? Regardless, I can’t keep hurting you just to assuage my friend’s feelings, either,” Dimitri says. “I was supposed to be able to fix this, but I fear I’m making it worse for all of us.”

Ingrid finds herself walking down the stairs, over to the last two left in the room. It is like a glass barrier stands around them. Like a museum piece set for her to appreciate, but never touch, the quiet intimacy of the past. She cannot change this. Ingrid presses her hand to the glass and lingers on the pain she left behind in Dedue and Dimitri. 

Cracks appear in the glass, emanating from the tips of her fingers. Dedue almost seems to be looking at her. But he is not. Instead, he is staring out a distant window.

And he says, “This is not a single person’s problem to fix.” He looks back to Dimitri. “The only thing that can make people change, ultimately, is themselves. No amount of arguing can make someone accept the truth otherwise.”

The cracks splinter out and web around the scene in front of her, until the world breaks. Dimitri’s young image, optimistic and almost improving, disappears. All that remains is Dedue, orange rose still pinned to his breast. His sword stands pointed on her own, so close to victory.

“Did you see that,” he says, hoarse.

Ingrid nods.

Dedue covers the bottom of his face with a hand.

“I believe the most knightly thing I could do,” Ingrid says, “Is lose to you.” She lowers herself to a knee, and bows her head. “Even that would not bring back your family. Or change what I said about you and Dimitri. I can't erase the way I treated you and those like you in turn. My humility is all I have to give you as an apology.”

“I have no interest in knights,” Dedue says, quiet. “But I do appreciate your humility. …I would like you to know. It becomes hard to hate when it is what you are constantly exposed to. All I could see was a cycle I did not want to play a part in. That was the most power I felt I had. That is why I cannot hate you.”

Before her, orange petals land on the ground. The sword at her breast disappears, and the two of them are left without weapons. Ingrid jolts her head up and sees Dedue’s rose crumpled in his own hand. When he opens his palm, the remains float away on the wind, into a coming rain.

“I believe you once asked me why I would participate,” he says. “It would not be honest if I said I had no personal interest in revolution. If I could change their perspective, would that not make the world a better place?” Dedue holds a hand out to her. “But I know there is no changing the past, and no reviving the dead. As well as Dimitri knows.”

Ingrid takes his hand, and he helps her stand. “Thank you,” she says. She can’t keep apologizing for her mistakes. It was a worse burden to force onto him. But she can’t stop herself from saying more. “If you know there’s no way to bring back…” She pauses again. If Glen was truly at the end of this road, it was hard to think she could leave the path. “To bring back what you’ve lost, why are the two of you trying so hard to win?”

Dedue looks over the edge of the arena. Clouds burn the horizon black. “You would not want what you loved to return to you if it was not the same. Revolution is power, and every cruel person in this world seeks power. If their revolution uses that which was my world as fuel for a fire, I would do anything I could to stop them from gaining access. ...I suppose you could say that was our logic."

She sighs and stands at his side. “I still don’t understand,” she says. “All Dimitri told me is this will get us revolution. Sylvain believed it would be what we wanted to change about the world. All I’ve been able to find out is that Glen was involved in this once upon a time. I just want to know what’s going on. I don’t care about winning. If you’d tell me, I would just tell them you won. I don’t care.”

“You do care,” Dedue says.

“Fine,” she says. “Fine. Yes. I do. I want to fight. I want to be involved. I want to be a part of their lives. But they won’t tell me anything.”

“Because they want to protect you,” he says. “Much in the way Dimitri has attempted to protect me. I will say this. He once saved my life. ...I would not have survived to live today if the two of us had not had the fortune to encounter one another. I felt, as we started, I would do the same for him. I would repay the debt once paid, and I envisioned myself as someone who could save him as he once saved me. It is no longer so simple. In trying to save him, I feel I have dragged us both down, allowing him to continue these duels."

Dimitri always defending, but never detailing. Always on edge. Always there to stand up for Dedue. Ingrid asks, “What do you mean.”

He turns away from the clouds rolling in. “The people who began these duels are the ones who changed both our lives.” Dedue looks at her. “I do not know all the details. But I do know Glen was the last victor of these duels."

"I don't see how," she murmurs. "He never talked about this. And he's gone. He should have been gone by the time this was happening."

"It is more connected than any of us fully understand. Unfortunately, I have never known anything more. I have been complicit, thinking I was helping myself. Aiding Dimitri. I thought this was the only response we had, as it was the only answer we had to the reality of the tragedy we experienced. In not telling the three of you more sooner, I fear I have allowed it to go too far." He stares into the distance and she remembers the vision. He says, "I told him people had to allow themselves to change. My actions have led him to be trapped in his own beliefs. ...Neither of us can change as we are at this school. I cannot keep walking the lines of this tragedy."

"It makes sense though," she says. "If he saved your life, after all." Ingrid thinks her life was saved, once upon a time, by the promise of a future. But she couldn't repay it now.

"We can only save ourselves. He reminded me I could survive, though, I've realized over these months," Dedue says. "Love can blind us. I have known ... for too long now. I would not abandon him, but I cannot destroy myself in the attempt to save him. I do not believe he would want that of me, or the three of you."

"Does that mean you're leaving?" she asks.

He looks conflicted, rare obvious emotion on his face. "I do not yet know. I will ask one thing of you, Ingrid.” He gingerly places a hand on her shoulder, as though still nervous to reach out. “Do not win. Do not allow Dimitri to win, either.” He pulls away. “I do not mean to ask the impossible of you. Far from it. ...I want the two of you to come out of this alive. But I refuse to be a part of these duels any longer.”

“I’ll try,” Ingrid says. “I will do everything I can.” He deserved it. Not just for how long he’d been trying to help Dimitri survive. For himself, too.

“Thank you. That is all I can ask for.”

The two of them walk down the stairs together, before Dedue disappears into the night.

\--

It resounds throughout the school.

“Can you believe it? Dedue was expelled.”

“What? Here I thought being the school prince’s friend would always get him ahead.”

“Maybe he got sick of playing puppy.”

Ingrid brushes past the rumors. “If you are so free with time that you can sit here and chatter, I’ll make sure to assign you something to do.”

People avoid her in the halls, like a cloud follows her.

Dedue had walked into Dimitri’s class and given him one final envelope. Ingrid had not managed to find enough unbiased information to get the full story, but more than one person had spoken of the look on Dimitri’s face when he read it. After that, it was a matter of the people who had watched him walk out the gates of the school, no longer wearing the school uniform. No one knew anything else. In the back of her head, she knew it had to do with him forfeiting the duel. Maybe more that than his decision to quit playing part in them. Breaking rules always came with consequences. 

Dimitri passes her in the halls with weary eyes tracking her movement. Yet, she goes through the day without a challenge. When she lays down to sleep, she hears a voice at her side.

“You’re so close.”

“I know,” she answers.

“What will you do first?” the voice asks.

“I haven’t decided,” she says.

“I thought you’d have had a long enough time to think about it.”

“I know,” Ingrid chokes out. And then - “Glen, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know.”

“We’re so helpless without you,” she says. “We’ve been so useless. I’ve been …” No hand comes to comfort hers, and something in her chest comes round, as though blanketing her against the loneliness. “I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean,” he says.

“Felix tried to become like you, and now that I hear your voice, it’s not you at all,” Ingrid says. “You’ve been gone this entire time.”

“That's not right,” he protests. “I’ve always been with you.”

“It’s just been us. Us four. Five. I mean five.” She sits up, and behind her eyelids, Glen sits as though he has not aged a day. “We’ve been killing ourselves over this, but it’s been years. If this is what I remember of you, how real can the thing in that castle be?”

In reality, Glen should be almost scowling. She expects him to be a little tough, a little not, but he’s all soft, and she can’t stand it. The gentle way his ghost touches her, nor the solemn look on his face. It isn’t the Glen she wants to remember. 

He says, “I’m here to make you strong, so you don’t need anyone else to protect you anymore.”

“But …” Ingrid finds herself falling through bedsheets. That is what she wants. So no one else has to hurt. No one else has to die. So nothing happens to Dimitri. So Dedue doesn’t leave for nothing. So Felix and Sylvain will forgive her. So she can be strong enough to live and stand on her own two feet in the face of every grotesque mistake she’s made, everything she regrets. If she won, she’d have that strength forever. The strength of a true knight.

“But I want help,” she whispers. “Please. Please. Tell me what I should do.” She’d take it from anything, even a ghost made of half-remembered books and vague childhood memories.

The ghost plants a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Fight nobly against Dimitri and win.”

A knock breaks the veil of sleep. Ingrid wipes the stains of tears from her face, and opens the door.

Dimitri stands in the hall before her. He looks worse now, even a day out from Dedue leaving. How many hours awake, she couldn’t imagine. He still nods. There is always desperate restraint, even when he is falling apart, the deepest fear of himself that becomes palpable in the air. When she starts to speak, he holds up a blue rose. This one still holds its thorns, and she can see the pricks on his fingers, like he just cut it from the gardens himself.

“Tonight,” he says. “Let’s just end this.”

\--

Glen’s ghost sits above her as she knocks on Felix’s door. No one answers. Ingrid leans against it, sliding until her butt hits the ground. She feels like a child, legs sprawled out, like after one of their fights.

“I remember when my father used to demand I apologize to you,” Ingrid says. “We couldn’t let the friendship between our families die. After all, this was their last chance.” She laughs. “But your parents would never agree to betroth another one of their sons to such an unsuccessful family. I knew that.”

“Yes,” a voice says, sound muffled by wood. “That’s why instead you would immediately challenge me on the honor of your family instead of apologizing.”

It catches her heart from the freefall of the last month. “I knew you wouldn’t accept any of my apologies. You were too stubborn for that.”

Ingrid feels herself fall back, as the door opens. Her head lands against Felix’s knee, and his boot smacks her back, till she leaps to her feet. “That wasn’t necessary!”

Felix is frowning, as usual, but it looks bemused. “I won’t let someone more stubborn than an ox call me stubborn. That’s an insult I won’t take.”

“Have we finally found something you don’t want to be best at?”

Ingrid peers past Felix, and sees Sylvain, smug and awkward at the same time. When they meet eyes, he suddenly looks away, sheepishness overpowering his delight at poking fun over Felix.

“I’m glad to see you both,” she says.

“We were just talking about you,” Felix says. “We heard Dedue lost. All that’s left is Dimitri.”

“Dedue didn’t lose,” she says. “He forfeited. By all rights, he should have won. …But I don't believe he regrets having to leave. I think he knew that would happen. Being expelled.”

Felix snorts. “I’m surprised.”

Sylvain cuts in, “I’m not.”

The two of them look at Sylvain, surprised. He says, “Look, Dedue is smart. …and a lot better than any of us, honestly. Him and Dimitri might have had the same goals, but I’m pretty sure he only stuck in this for this long because … we left Dimitri alone.”

“We didn’t make that choice,” Felix mutters.

“Yeah, I guess, but we could have tried more,” Sylvain spits back. “I’m no saint either. But the only thing I’m trying to say is Dedue tried a lot more than we have after all the shit that happened.”

“So what do you expect us to do,” Felix says. “Allow ourselves to be thrown out of the school as he did and let the boar destroy himself from the inside out? If we are removed from the equation, there will be nothing left to stop whatever powers that be from using him as fuel for a new fire.”

“No,” Ingrid interrupts. She walks between the two of them. “I’m going to fight him, one last time. Then he won’t have a reason to continue in this.”

They both stare at her. “Ingrid, I thought you came here because you were going to stop,” Sylvain says.

“I can’t just stop,” she says. “You know that. Someone has to finish this. I can’t leave Dimitri alone like this anymore.”

“Fantastic,” Felix says. “Another noble sacrifice to drag him out of the thing that will kill him. Surely, that’s going to be the thing that knocks him out of his self-sabotage. Tell me, Ingrid, do you ever listen to yourself? Or anyone around you?”

“I’m not going to sacrifice myself,” Ingrid says. But then she goes on. “Even if I did, I’d rather die trying than leave him alone like this.”

“Fine,” Felix says. “Get out.”

Sylvain says, “Wait a minute, don’t just kick her out.”

“No,” Felix says. “I’m not going to allow more of this noble bullshit in my life. I want her out, and I want you out, too, if you’re going to try to justify her idiotic behavior.”

“Just because Glen died doesn’t mean –“ she starts, but doesn’t finish.

Because he is holding a blade at her. “I said get out.”

Ingrid spins around. “Fine. I understand.” Tears burn her eyes and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Goodbye. Stay safe.” She does not say - take care of each other.

In her room, she picks up what little is necessary. Her uniform, and her badges. She packs up her old clothing. Pens and pencils go inside neat bags, alongside paperwork and notations for the rest of the school year. She didn’t know if anyone would find them. But Ingrid could not bring herself to leave without putting her affairs in order. Making sure her bed was made, carefully rebraiding her hair, writing notes in case anyone came to investigate. All excuses. A knight would walk out the door, standing tall. 

As she walks up the infinite staircase, she does her best impression.

Dimitri is already waiting at the top. “Thank you, Ingrid,” he says, monotone. “I apologize.”

Her teeth grit together. “There’s nothing you should apologize for.”

“You shouldn’t have needed to be involved in this,” he says. “It’s another fault of my own.”

“I doubt that,” she says.

“No. That ring should have been destroyed,” Dimitri whispers, tone turning dark. “I should have destroyed it with my own two hands.”

Before she can respond, he has torn the sword from his chest. It has changed since she last saw it – reminiscent of the worn steel in Sylvain’s, but more dangerous than before. Toothed and ready, unlike any dueling sword should be. Ingrid steels her resolve and draws her own. One last time. She would make it the last time.

She makes the first move, colored by that foolhardy notion. Dimitri deflects her strike like it’s that of a child’s, and she draws herself up for another hit. Before it lands, he kicks her in the chest, knocking the wind from her lungs. She feels herself tumble down, rolling across the ground. Her nails dig into the tiles, tearing as she forces herself to a stop. The sword is no longer in her grasp. She steps through her problems: Dimitri running at her, as though in slow motion. Her sword catching light, twenty feet away. The ache in her ribs that makes her dizzy with every new breath. Instead of running, she raises her ring-hand to her chest, fiddling with the crest on her finger.

“Why is Glen in the castle,” she yells.

Though he should not be able to, his barreling run stops at Glen’s name.

“He won the last duels,” Dimitri rasps.

“He died,” Ingrid counters.

“Exactly.”

The word comes with another strike, but she sees it coming, somehow. In another moment, she has escaped, and the sword is back in her grasp.

“Dedue told me these duels existed before us,” Ingrid yells from across the arena. “So why do we have to do this if he won? That’s what I want to know, Dimitri. Why do we have to fight a battle that’s already been won?”

“Because it is not a victory that anyone should want,” he spits. “Because all that happened was that whatever is in that castle remade itself in his image, and anyone could use it, no matter what they wanted to do with him!” Dimitri’s face contorts, rage and grief overwhelming the exhaustion that normally took him. “Because it needs a desperate knight to do its every bidding,” he hisses.

“It’s not him!” she yells. “It’s not!”

“I know. I saw it take him,” Dimitri says, and throws himself at her again. “He died, alone and afraid!”

There are broken images of Glen in her mind, mindful versus dreamy, harsh versus gentle, real versus fake. A child prodigy struggling under the pressure. The him she never knew. The him she couldn’t know, because she was just barely too young to truly understand, because she needed a hero to look up to, and become.

Dimitri slams his sword down, the teeth catching hers, and Ingrid’s sword shatters in her grasp. She lets go barely in time to avoid the sword smashing into her, but there is nothing left for her to fight with.

It was always 50-50 as to whether Glen would beat Dimitri. Ingrid draws herself back. Even with Glen’s sword ripped out of her own heart, his ring from a closed casket, his power in her hands, she knew the coin was not going to land in her favor.

“That castle stole away everything we knew,” Dimitri rasps, and she wonders how much he has slept, since Glen died, since his parents, since they lost everything. “Like it was a blessing. A gift!”

He swipes at her again, and she only protects the rose by letting her arm take the slash. It stings, and then burns, and then she feels nothing at all as she continues to run. Ingrid swallows back what she wanted to say – what she used to say. That he was a knight, and that was only natural, and it was good, and –

“You think I don’t know!” she yelled, running around him. “You think I don’t live knowing that he was stolen from us all, younger than we are now?

Dimitri seems to take pause, true surprise coloring his face, bringing back the youth. But it hardens just as quickly, teeth bared. “I don’t think you do.” The next blow knocks her on her back. “If you did, you wouldn’t be fighting me on this.”

“But what good will it do you to get the power? Would it truly help you to destroy it with your own hands?”

“You are still using it,” he says. “You are still using Glen.”

It is perhaps the hardest thing to do. “You’re right,” she says. “But I don’t want it anymore.” Warmth ebbs out of her bones. “He’s dead and there’s nothing more he can do. But we are still alive. We outlived the tragedy. You, and I, and Sylvain, Felix … Dedue. Please.” As the ring disintegrates from her hand, she reaches out to take Dimitri’s. “I’m sick of fighting like this.”

“I am too.” He pulls his hand away. “That’s why I have to be the one to end this.”

There is a glint, and she sees his sword overhead, his hands a million miles away. Ingrid feels the ground fall out from under her. Her head hangs low.

“You think a boar knows how to end anything.”

“This isn’t a monarchy anymore, Prince.”

Twin steel rings above her, and she glances up, to the miserable fools she has spent a lifetime beside.

“I thought the two of you were done with me,” Ingrid says, tears beginning to burn her eyes.

“None of us are very good at keeping our word,” Sylvain says, and for once, his smile is genuine. 

Felix holds Dimitri off. “We are done here,” he hisses. “I’m not letting you use corpses as an excuse any longer.”

But as he says it, Dimitri falters. “No,” he says. “The two of you can’t be here.”

“Yeah, I get it, rules and all that,” Sylvain says. “My reputation is already bad enough, it’s fine.”

“No,” Dimitri gasps. His eyes flicker up to the castle, and the three follow his gaze. “There are consequences for going against the rule of the duels.”

The ground below them begins to rumble. Ingrid brushes away a snowflake from her ear, and watches it disintegrate into gray ash in her fingers. More pebbles fall from above, and she jolts up.

“We need to leave,” she says. 

As she speaks, they all look for the stairs, but they crumble just as well, leaving them on nothing but shallow ground.

“You weren’t supposed to do this!” Dimitri yells. “We were so close to ending this!”

“Boar,” Felix says. Then he starts again. “Dimitri. We are leaving. There’s nothing to end. This ended years ago when my brother and your parents died. The only reason this continues is because we are playing with corpses as though they were puppets.”

“I am doing this because they took what was left of our nobility and put it on a table for monsters to take it and use it! Because they framed Dedue’s family and tore his life apart to cover for their crimes! Even now, they've rejected and taken him away from me!” Dimitri slashes at Felix, who deftly pushes the blow away. “I am doing this so no one else gets trapped in the same nightmare we have been stuck in for the last four years!”

“I know it’s hard to let yourself survive,” Sylvain shouts. “But if you’re calling everything we’ve done together a part of some great nightmare, you’re lying to yourself, Dimitri!”

“I can’t bear it,” Dimitri says. “I cannot bear the thought that all that will exist in the world of those we have lost is this fake pristine image for others to fight over and claim.”

Ingrid pushes herself up, steadied on hands and knees. “But we’re still alive, Dimitri.” Her sword gone, she has no weapon with which to fight. Instead, she barrels straight for him, crashing into the pile-up of her friends and knocking Dimitri over. “We are what exists in this world, in the face of our loved ones! And we’re the ones who remember. The only reason this is here is because we’ve allowed it to go unchallenged for too long. I know you, more than anyone, want me to believe in that.”

“No,” he says. Quiet and desperate and not at all sincere.

“I always remember when I quit the fencing club. After you took over as captain. Felix didn’t want anything to do with it. And it made me so angry, until I was cruel to you and Dedue. I was trapped inside my own head and convinced myself you were dishonoring his memory. The way you took down his pictures. The way you talked about him, like he was nothing more but another person. The way you were trying to move on, back then.” She walks over to Dimitri. Tears cloud her vision, but she sees them forming in his eyes as well. Ingrid stands tall and holds out her hand. “I refused to admit you were right. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Ingrid,” he says. “…I have been a fool, haven’t I.”

“We can leave together,” she says. That was a lie, truly, for how could they leave as the world was falling apart around them. “We can make up for the lost time.”

“I have to fix this,” he says, and it’s like miming to something that doesn’t exist for her anymore. “If the three of you could see, I could get you all out of here, safely. I won't let them do to you what they did to Dedue.”

"Dedue chose to leave," Ingrid murmurs. "He knew what would happen and knew what he had to do."

"Why would he leave me like this," he whispered. "I would never let anything hurt him. I would die first."

"That's exactly it, Dimitri! He removed himself because he can't condone that. And neither can I. ...I came here because I believed the same, that I would die sooner than let you destroy yourself. But imagine how that would destroy you. Or Felix and Sylvain. We've been through so much already. We don't need to inflict more tragedy on ourselves."

"Then we can return to the school," he says. "There's still the elevator, I will make sure we make it there."

Felix and Sylvain take a stand on each side of Ingrid. “We can’t go your way anymore, Dimitri,” Sylvain says. “So why don't you take a chance on ours.”

In the moment, Ingrid can see Dimitri reaching out. His hand within reach. Like he truly believes Sylvain, like he might change his mind. But in the same moment, she hears the ground crack beneath them, thunderous. It decides for them. Dimitri disappears, a look of shock on his face, behind the rubble of the ground he still managed to stand on, and Ingrid realizes too late she is falling. Plummeting, more than anything, and she clenches her hands. 

“Don’t panic!”

It is Felix she hears first, his customary bark, and it is the overbearing cologne of Sylvain she smells, as the three of them fall together. Ingrid forces her hands open, grasping at straws, trying to find some hold on what she has left. Felix grabs hers hands as brusquely as he always acts, and she slams a hand into Sylvain, dragging him closer when he almost drifts away.

“Thanks,” Sylvain says, brief and frank. Like he’s been snapped back to reality, he wraps his long arms around the two of them, like over-drawn glue.

“How are we going to survive?” Ingrid shouts above the fray.

Sylvain laughs, and Felix flicks him with what little space he has to move, and she feels her heart soften. “How’d you think Dedue got out of here?”

“I don’t plan to die,” Felix says. “Nor do I intend to let the two of you take the easy way out.”

“You idiots,” she murmurs. “You didn’t have to come back for me.”

“We couldn’t leave you to deal with Dimitri alone,” Sylvain says. “…I need you to know, Ingrid, that our problems aren’t yours to fix. We’ve been taking out things on each other for so long, but me and Felix wanted to help you for once. To try to make up for the way things have been.”

“Shut up,” Felix says, but the pink is clear on his face past the ash and grime.

Though they keep falling, Ingrid pulls her arms up best she can to hold onto her friends. “Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Stubborn idiot,” Felix mutters. “You say that as though we’ve not been just as foolish.”

There is nothing in the eternity of death, but in life, there exists one another. As they fall and leave everything they know, it is no concern whether those left behind know where they went.

Anyone who cares to look would inevitably end up in the same place.

\--

Dimitri keeps letters close to his chest. The final one Dedue gave him before leaving the school. Old letters from family he no longer has. One from a step-sister he hasn’t come to terms with. And –

_Hey, Dimitri_

_I know you might think you’re alone._

_I thought I was too. I thought all I had to depend on was the image I made up a dead man to be._

_But I wasn’t._

_It turned out, I had people who would protect me, too._

_I want you to know, those same people want to protect you too._

_I know you can’t let others do that right now._

_But one day. When you can let us._

_Us three and Dedue will be waiting._

_Live until the day you can let yourself walk out those doors of your own volition. I trust you. We all do._

_Your friend._

_Ingrid_

**Author's Note:**

> So.  
> I have not played. Blue Lions. I played Black Eagles and haven't had the time to do more since BUT i read every support and got super emotional about the interplay of these 5 together - though the giftee asked for Ingrid & Sylvain & Felix, I couldn't leave out Dimitri and Dedue's interesting and messy relationship with them. I kinda got the feeling that my giftee was looking for something Ingrid-focused, due to being interested in a protection squad, so I wrote it centered on her ultimately. I thought that was good in general because what little I know of fandom, I know she isn't always a big favorite of people. But she's a flawed person with a lot of interesting traits and poor responses to grief, and that's exciting. Also, I love women. Also, Ingrid would be such an Utena-alike. Just. So badly wants to be that pure knight ideal. Girl. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted Mercedes as the rose bride, actually, and I thought Ingrid/Mercedes would be /so good/ but also I wanted to focus on the platonics so I didn't go that route. Besides, Dedue is actually a huge Rose Bride archetype unsurprisingly with how he is treated by the world and also, he is always in the greenhouse. Also everything with how Dedue is demonized by the world for the sin of merely existing. Mm. For some reason, he takes a Juri-like role here too, because ... he has so much reason and can see the reality of things, but is still holding onto these ideas that are hurting him. I thought that was exciting.
> 
> Glen would have had the Red rose. That's why Felix gets yellow (adoration). Felix as the Nanami? It's more likely than you'd think. That's also why Sylvain ended up with green, though I wouldn't personally say he's that much like Saionji. More his envy and bitterness that destroys him and his ability to get anywhere in the world. Dimitri is blue of course, partly because Blue Lions, but also because Blue (in RGU) represents the unattainable, nostalgia, that which one can never have again, and the inability to let go of it. Dimitri as the Miki, but a version that is keeping these duels going, is super neat to me ... particularly because I'm interested in the idea that he tried to get past things, but due to how everyone of the five was so fucked up about everything that had happened, he just internalized it and ruined himself to a degree, and it's in much slower steps he has to take a way to finally get out of his own head. Also hes the mikage i guess, but reverse mikage who doesnt get removed from the world stage. 
> 
> Ingrid of course gets the white rose because, the Utena of the story, but also because she idolizes that purity and nobility so much. It is satisfying when you take something pure and allow it to become impure, not through harmful means, but instead by allowing it to become dirty naturally, to allow in the pain and let it wash over you rather than carry you away.


End file.
